


Fine. I admit, I love him.

by MutedSilence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Background Case, Distracted Sherlock Holmes, Flowers, Fluff, Johnlock Roulette, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft's Meddling, No Reichenbach, Oblivious John, Pining, Pining Sherlock Holmes, References to Oscar Wilde, Secret Admirer, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutedSilence/pseuds/MutedSilence
Summary: Mycroft has had enough of Sherlock's pining and decides to make him do something about it. Starting with Sherlock figuring out his feelings for John.((Set before the Reichenbach fall))
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 49
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a really basic idea and just wrote it. I'm not sure what's going to happen next.

Sherlock had just climbed out of bed when he saw his brother sitting in John's chair. With a great huff, he turned on the kettle and flopped into his chair. "What do you want?" Mycroft was already drinking a cup of tea. He had dug out their tea pot - the one they only used for company. Sherlock looked him over. He had been in his flat for at least half an hour.  _ Why didn't he wake me?  _ Sherlock looked him over again. His eyes darting over his brother.  _ Doesn't want to piss me off too much.  _

Mycroft placed the cup and saucer down. Taking his time to answer, "Sherlock. I can no longer sit back and watch you pine." His fingers interlocked on his lap as Sherlock sat forward. 

Venom dripped from his mouth as he spat out, "Pine? I do no such thing." He sat back in his chair, his arms crossing as he glared at his brother. Challenging him to argue. Mycroft takes his brother's attitude as his cue to leave. He stands and picks up his ever present umbrella. His steps falter as if he remembered something and moved back to Sherlock. Picking up a phone from the table beside John's chair, he places it in Sherlock's hand. It wasn't just any phone. It was Sherlock's.  _ How did it get out here? _

"When you've finally accepted it, give me a text. I could help you know." Mycroft's eyebrow raised as he looked down at Sherlock. The expression Sherlock knew all too well. The look that says, 'I know something you don't know'. Sherlock looks at him curiously. Eyes dancing over his frame.  _ What could he possibly know? _

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Mycroft gave Sherlock another pointed look. It was another that he recognised. The 'Don't be an idiot' look. And with that, he left. Leaving Sherlock behind to mull over,  _ well... what, exactly? _ Sherlock held his phone in his hand as he looked at the door. 

_ What could he possibly be talking about? I don't pine. Do I? Mycroft knows me well. The only person that knows me better is John. But that's John. John's the exception to everything. Is that it? Do I pine over John? What does that even mean? Pining. Definition one: Suffer a mental and physical decline, especially because of a broken heart. Definition two: Miss or long for. Definition three: (Foll by For) feel great longing. Do I? Who else could he be referring? Do I pine for John? Of course not. How could I?  _

Sherlock jumps from his seat to collect his laptop. Well, whichever was closest. He sat back in his chair and opened John's laptop. Opening the browser he typed,  ~~ Do I love my roommate? ~~ backspace,  ~~ How to tell if I have fallen  ~~ Delete. He sat thinking what would be best before finally typing, "How to tell if you're pining" and clicking the first link. 

He worked through the checklist. "Do I constantly think of John?"  _ Well, yeah, he's my best friend.  _ A mental tick. "Feel a natural high together?"  _ With our line of work? How can you not? _ A mental tick. "Find yourself talking about him?"  _ Who else would I talk about?  _ Mental tick. "Sneaking stares?"  _ He's just intriguing.  _ Tick. "Sleeplessness?" _ That's nothing new, I've always been like that.  _ "Call them first?"  _ This is ridiculous.  _ Tick. "Miss him?"  _ Always.  _ Tick. "Nervous around him?"  _ Am I?  _ "Want him to be happy?" _ Of course I want John to be happy. What kind of question is that?  _ Tick. "Feel butterflies, especially when he touches you?"  _ He just has that quality about him. I'm sure everyone gets that.  _ Tick. "Sappy love songs? Ugh, seriously? Feel safe with him? Obviously! Nothing else matters? Only he does!" 

Sherlock begins to get flustered. He's almost reached the end of the list, but his mind was spinning out of control. His answer was 'Yes' to every question and he knew it. Directing his attention to the laptop, he deletes the history and throws the laptop on the chair opposite. Picking up his phone, he sends one text. 

_ Fine. I admit, I love him.  _


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft was sitting in a large leather armchair. The only sound came from the crackling fire ahead of him. A man placed a cup of tea beside his tray of cakes and sandwiches. A rustle of a newspaper echoes in the silence. Within the depths of his blazer he felt a vibration. His nose crinkled as he pulled it out. Irritation at his thought process being disturbed evident on his face. It didn't last however. His face softened as he read the message. 

_ Fine. I admit, I love him.  _

He looked down at the message.  _ Oh, Sherlock. _ He hadn't expected the admission so early, or as easily. His brother had always been a little… let's say, hostile. Although, his brother's mood was always vastly improved around the doctor, even in Mycroft's presence. He had silently vowed to help. He saw it as his duty as an older brother. He'd never admit it, but he loved Sherlock dearly. Seeing him sad was almost as hard as seeing him dependent on drugs. Not nearly as hard, but when his happiness was just held out of reach, Mycroft could feel a pain in his own chest. 

Now, Mycroft wasn't the only one who saw the detective's infatuation. In fact, the plan he had come up with, wasn't his idea. Everyone close to the two tenants of 221b could see they needed each other. Well, apart from the two men in question, that is. That being said - the idea belonged to none other than Greg Lestrade. 

Both men knew that Sherlock would never take advice nor help from the detective inspector. They had agreed to make the idea seem as if it naturally belonged to Mycroft. While Sherlock would never take help from his brother, it was more likely. Greg had also informed Mycroft, they would need the help of others close to Sherlock and John. Not to mention a set of cameras in the flat so Mycroft could control the environment properly. Sherlock was not going to like that. He stood from his seat and walked through to his office, calling for Anthea on his way as he put his phone back into his pocket. 

Less than a minute after he sat in his office chair, the door was opened again. "You called, sir." Anthea walked through to stand in front of his desk. Her phone was resting in her hand, turned off. Ready for whatever errand Mycroft could send her on. He liked Anthea, he could trust her with anything. Mycroft might even consider her a friend at times. Or, she may be if he didn't provide her payslips. Still, she was a vital member of his staff and therefore, knew all the ins and outs of the Holmes family. 

"Ah, Anthea. I need you to send a green carnation, singular, to Dr John Watson. He's at the surgery today." She gives a nod to him and begins tapping on her phone. Fingers flying at an experienced rate. 

"Sir," Mycroft looked towards her. "Do you want a card?"  _ A card. What could be on the card? Is a card necessary?  _

"Just 'Dr John Watson' should suffice. Thank you, Anthea. That'll be all." He turned his attention towards some paperwork resting on his desk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anthea retreating back through the door. Closing the door sharply behind her, leaving Mycroft in his personal cocoon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Tumblr if you're interested https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/  
> Hope you're enjoying this! Been distracted lately, but trying to get the next one out as soon as possible.  
> Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!!


	3. Chapter 3

John had just seen his fourth child with a cold and overbearing parent. He pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stave off the impending headache. It was going to be a long day. Looking at the clock, he sighed in relief.  _ One o'clock, lunch. Next patient is at half past one.  _ His bag was resting underneath his desk. That morning he made a sandwich, and decided to grab a fizzy drink and packet of crisps from the nearest corner shop. Rooting through his bag, he found his lunch and a used box of paracetamol. Popping two pills in his mouth and gulping the drink. 

He settled back to eat when a knock came at his door.  _ Not a patient. Please, not a patient.  _ The door opened to a smiling Sarah. John's eyebrows screwed when he saw the flower in her hand. "You alright?" He spoke the words around a bite of his sandwich. 

"Hiya, John. Um, this just arrived for you, " She held out the flower towards him. A green one. John didn't know types of flowers, but he could tell it was beautiful. A small note was tied to the stem. He reached for the flower as he placed his lunch down. "Looks like someone has a secret admirer. Know who it's from?" 

John looked at the card. 'Dr John Watson'.  _ Expensive. Quality card. Off-white. Indentations made into the card. His name in cursive.  _ All of that told him nothing. He didn't know anyone who would waste money on a singular flower. The card looked like it cost more than the actual flower. It was tied neatly to the stem by a thin piece of red ribbon. "I haven't the foggiest. Who left it?" 

Sarah had sat in the patients seating next to the desk. Leaning across to rest her elbows on his desk. "It was just left by a delivery man. He asked if you were here, then left the flower with me. Very smartly dressed though. Had a name tag on his suit though. James. Not very helpful I know." 

John was still looking at the flower as he listened.  _ Who? Why? It doesn't make sense. Is it a joke?  _ It took him a good few seconds to register what Sarah had said, "No, no it's fine, " His eyebrows were drawn together as he looked at the card. Trying to deduce like a certain consulting detective.  _ It's a lot harder than it looks _ . He finally looked back up towards Sarah. "Thank you."

She left him to his lunch and flower. He placed the flower next to his monitor. Looking over at it every so often as he saw the rest of his patients. 

* * *

The flower had stayed in his mind all day. He just… couldn't figure it out.  _ Why would someone leave a flower? Perhaps Sherlock can figure it out.  _ All of his previous girlfriends had dumped him after an argument. He couldn't see any of them sending the flower. 

He climbed the stairs of 221b and made his way to the kitchen. Taking out a glass and filling it with water to act as a makeshift vase. He turned to see Sherlock watching him from his chair. "Hey. Do you know what type of flower this is? Someone sent it to the surgery." 

Sherlock seemed to break out of a daze as his eyes flicked towards the flower in the glass. If it was anyone else, John would say he was surprised. The expression was short lived however. He stood and walked towards John. He picked it up. Holding the stem between his delicate fingers. The flower was brought to his eyes as he inspected the card. John watched in fascination. Watching Sherlock work. Graceful fingers running over the surface of the card. 

"It's a carnation. I take it you don't know who sent it." John shook his head. Sherlock paid no notice, his attention solely focused on the carnation. 

The flower was placed carefully back into the glass. Sherlock's eyes moved to the floor as he swept past John. Closing himself within his room. John let out a breath and began to make tea. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had shut himself in his room. He knew the flower. Of course he did. He also knew what the flower symbolised. As he held it between his fingers, he also knew who had sent it. Mycroft. Probably on his behalf. He had yet to speak to his brother since that morning. Not a word. Not even a reply to his text. It made him a little anxious. Especially after the flower delivery.  _ What does Mycroft expect me to do?  _

_ What is your plan? - SH  _

He didn't expect a response to this text. If he didn't get one earlier, why would he get one now. He flopped onto his bed. Phone held limply in his hand as it fell to rest beside him. He brought his free hand to rest on his chest as he stared at the ceiling. He could hear John pottering about in the other room. The sound of the kettle. Water being poured. The footsteps. There's a knock at his door. He turns his head to see John opening his door with a mug in hand. 

John places the mug on his bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed. Sherlock watches on, feeling the mattress dip by his hip. "Are you okay?" Sherlock raises, propping himself on his elbows. John held his hands in his lap as he watched Sherlock. 

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" He puts on his most convincing fake smile that he can muster. Sherlock bows his head slightly as he turns to reach his mug. Sitting further back on the bed in the process. Legs crossing. 

Still with an inquisitive eye, John brought his feet onto the bed. Turning towards Sherlock. "You just," He took a deep breath, looking away.  _ Saying the words in his head. As if preparing for the conversation.  _ "You seem really... distant today. Is there something you're not telling me? You can talk to me. You know that right?" Sherlock takes another sip of his tea. Both men watch each other. The mug moves away from his lips. 

Sherlock licks his lips and gives John a smile, "Thank you for the tea." John's shoulders sag as he finally breaks eye contact. He nods to no one in particular as he stands from Sherlock's bed. Standing beside the bed, his hands clench. Eyes focused towards the door. His head twitches slightly towards Sherlock, but his eyes remain fixed on the door. His fist unclenches as he lets out another breath. He stalks out of the room, closing the door behind. 

Sherlock picks up his phone. A small green light flashing at the bottom. His finger slides across the screen to reveal a message. His brother.  _ He actually replied? _

_ A flower had been sent to John. Another will be sent. I assume you understand its significance. I will let you know of anything else. Don't worry, brother mine. -MH _

That didn't fill him with much confidence.  _ What choice do you have?  _ Sherlock laid back on his bed. He felt helpless. Out of control. And that scared him more than he'd like to admit. John was in the bathroom, he could hear as he moved about.  _ The sound of water. Brushing his teeth. Getting ready for bed. _ Sure enough- the door opened not long after and the sound of John walking towards his room was all Sherlock could hear.

He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep. Praying his restless brain would give him a moment of peace. His earlier realisation playing on repeat in his mind. 


	5. Chapter 5

John had work the next day. Sherlock hadn't seen him that morning. He heard him in the bathroom, but other than that, he was left to his thoughts. Which all consisted of John in some way.  _ So what if he was pining? At least before realising, he didn't have to deal with the constant knowledge that he's in love with his flatmate.  _

When John came home, he had another flower in his hands. It was nearly identical. "Another one! Exactly the same as yesterday! Do you think it's their favourite flower?" Sherlock was both grateful and upset that John didn't understand what the flower meant. John's voice was full of wonder as he danced through to the kitchen. Placing the carnation with the first one. Sherlock began to tap away at his laptop. Nothing in particular. Just to distract his wandering mind. Mycroft kept telling him not to worry.  _ Just go along with it.  _ Sherlock made a noncommittal noise in response to John as he sat opposite. 

He had been distant with John since he realised his feelings towards him. He had also convinced himself that John would never return the sentiment. 

* * *

The next day, John had the day off. Sherlock had been keeping himself busy with his experiments. Or at least, that's how it appeared. He read the readings, he looked through the microscope lens, he played with a few chemicals. And, yet, nothing went in. All he could focus on was John. The way he made toast and tea that morning and placed some by Sherlock's elbow in case he wanted some. How he sat in his chair to eat. Sherlock's eyes followed him as he walked to the bathroom after his breakfast. Listened to the sound of the shower. Sherlock put his head down to work. Nothing helped. He was aware of John, and only John. Everything he did. Sherlock's hands were working on autopilot as he watched John out of the corner of his eye. 

Sherlock was just about to throw his slides in frustration, when the door opened. John turned away from his laptop slightly to see who it was as Sherlock's head snapped up. Welcoming any distraction. 

Lestrade stood in the doorway, green carnation in hand. He crossed and handed it to John.  _ What is he doing? Is he taking credit? Was this the plan? Take John from me?  _ He hands the flower to John and says casually, "There was a man at the door. Had this to deliver, said I'd take it up for him."  _ Calm yourself! Stop being an idiot. You should have noticed.  _ John stood and moved to the makeshift vase behind Sherlock after thanking Lestrade. Sherlock was hyper aware of every movement John made, but all sound had become muted. A dull hum as the men spoke. Sherlock's back was ramrod straight as it took in all of John's movements. 

John leaves for his bedroom and Sherlock watches him go. "How's it going?" Sherlock startles at the sudden voice. Lestrade is sitting at the table next to him. Turned to face him. Sherlock's head jerkily turns to face him. 

Sherlock looks him up and down. Analysing.  _ He knows. Of course he does. _ Sherlock sags slightly as he looks over Lestrade. "It's torturous." A warm hand comes to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. Rubbing sympathetically. Typically, he abhors others touching him, but this… it feels right. He didn't know he needed it. He sags further. Showing his weakness to others is not something he is known to do. But this is Lestrade. He's like a brother to Sherlock. Always close when he's needed. 

"I've got a case if you want it? It's only a five, but I figured you'd need to get out." Sherlock nods his head. He does need to get out. If he stays cooped up with John alone, he'll go insane.  _ Distraction. Need distraction.  _

Sherlock sits a little straighter and Lestrade's hand drops. "Can you give us a lift?"  _ Can't be trapped in a taxi alone with John.  _ He never took a lift from Lestrade. Always following behind in another car. Lestrade gives him a smile as confirmation and Sherlock jumps up to get ready. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to write from Greg's pov. I like to switch and play with perspectives.

Greg had come up with the idea to get John and Sherlock together months back. He saw how Sherlock reacted to John at every crime scene. Even when away from crime scenes. They were perfect for each other, but any insistence only resulted in John's infamous mantra. Greg could see the drop in Sherlock's expression. He hated it. so, he did what any friend would do in that situation - go behind their backs with a plan and get the British government involved. 

The ride to the crime scene was tense. Sherlock had joined him in the front, leaving John in the back alone. That did surprise him. They all rode in silence. When Greg went to speak, Sherlock shot him a glare. 

* * *

Sherlock had solved the case almost as soon as he stepped on the scene. He even stayed behind to fill in paperwork. Greg usually had to chase him for that. Even John was shocked. They all sat in Greg's office to fill in the paperwork. Sherlock was taking his time.  _ Must have it bad if he's actively creating distractions in the things he hates.  _ Sherlock read every word several times. John had long finished.  _ Coffee. Need coffee. _ "I'm getting a coffee. Want one? Tea?" Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like tea as Greg stood. 

John stood with him, "I'll help." Sherlock's head snapped up almost comically. Watching as John led Greg out. They got to the kettle in the break room and began preparing the mugs. "What's wrong with Sherlock? He's been acting weird the past few days." Greg looked up towards John, slightly startled at the sudden conversation. 

"I don't know, mate." He did know. Of course he knew, but he wasn't about to go blabbering to John. Although, he didn't seem too happy with that answer.  _ Come on, Greg. This is your chance.  _ "When did he start acting strange? I only saw him a few days ago and he seemed fine." John's face screws up a little as he thinks. They both make the drinks as he thinks. His hand freezes as he stirs in Sherlock's sugar. Greg turns to look at him, confusion colouring his features as he looks over John. 

He was about to speak when John's mouth opened and closed a few times. "I came home from the clinic. Asked if he knew what type of flower it was. Then he just-" The words were barely a whisper, but Greg heard them.  _ Please. Please, dear god above! Put it together! _

John turned to face Greg, spoon still in hand. "Does Sherlock not like carnations?"  _ Don't hit him. Don't hit him. Don't hit him.  _ Greg took a deep breath and used all his limited acting skills. He turned towards John and gave a curious look. John placed the spoon down. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought. Realisation settling over his face.  _ Yes! Finally! _ "He knows who it is. Of course he does. He spent ages looking at the flower, then just left." 

Greg had begun to take pity on both the men. Sherlock was so hung up over this, and John looked so lost. He wanted to just slap them and lock them in a room together. Shake John until he falls into Sherlock's waiting arms. Shout at Sherlock until he talks to the man. Tell Mycroft to sign the cards from Sherlock. Anything.  _ Anything. _

He was about to talk when Sherlock swept into the break room. "Come John. I'm done." Greg reaches behind to pick up his abandoned coffee. John looks towards Sherlock and begins to bustle out the room. Sending half an apology at the undrunk tea. Sherlock looks Greg over. Silently telling him not to say a word. The words were pierced through Greg's chest just from the glare Sherlock gave him. He gulped down some of his coffee and gave a slight grimace at the stale taste. 

He was left alone in the room. Pouring away the undrunk drinks, he takes out his phone. Scrolling through his contacts he stops at Mycroft's number. A short internal debate as he tried to decide whether to call or text.  _ Text. Might be in a meeting or something. _

Your brother is going crazy. John doesn't seem to understand anything. I'm going to murder them if they don't get their act together. -GL

The reply was almost instant, 

_ I do not sympathise at all. I've been getting text messages from Sherlock about what he should do. It is infuriating. - MH _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter, but I think we needed more of Sherlock's internal thoughts.

Sherlock was getting more and more agitated as the days had passed. He just wanted to separate himself from John so he could think through his feelings. He almost scoffed at the word,  _ Feelings. _

Lestrade had been giving him pitying looks all day and it was driving him insane. Mycroft had kept his plan secret. John was convinced that he had a mystery woman falling for him. He almost corrected John. Almost. Instead he just hid in his room. 

The crime had been easy. He even tried to draw it out, but it got to the point where he wanted to scream. Sherlock knew that he kept looking at John throughout. He was even certain he blushed when John praised him. Although he tried to hide it, Lestrade saw. No one ever expects Sherlock to stay for paperwork. They always have to chase him. When John looked like he would get a cab, Sherlock spoke up. Saying they would meet them at the Yard. Everyone was exchanging glances as they left. John had even tried to talk to him in the cab. Asking what was wrong. 

Everything John said, Sherlock managed to ignore. That is until he went to help Lestrade. Sherlock tried to communicate with Lestrade telepathically as he left.  _ Not a word! Don't tell him!  _

He rushed through the paperwork and threw it on the desk before rushing to the break room. They were definitely talking about him. He needed a strategy, but nothing came to mind. All he could think was to avoid John. Sherlock wanted to scream at John when the flowers arrived,  _ THEY'RE NOT FROM SOME WOMAN, THEY'RE FROM ME! _ That thought prompted the plan to hide. As much as he wanted John to know, it terrified him. 

_ What if he doesn't like me? What if he rejects me?  _ Sherlock has never been one to become this anxious. This is uncertain. It makes him uncomfortable. 

He decides that the only solution is to avoid John and his flowers. At least until he can control his emotions. He briefly considered going to stay with Mycroft. Perhaps if he annoyed his brother enough, Mycroft would hurry his plan. Or at least let Sherlock know what it was. _John will absolutely know something is up then._ Sherlock never willingly spends time with Mycroft. He knew he had to leave the flat, the issue was finding somewhere to go. _Experiment at Bart's?_ _Go for a walk? Sit around in one of his bolt holes and watch the clock?_

Sherlock didn't know what to do, and he didn't like not knowing. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! I'm screaming in frustration over how stupid the characters are, and yet I'm the one writing them.   
> Anyway, enjoy.

For the next week, John received a green carnation at the same time. It didn't matter where he was. It was both flattering and terrifying. Sherlock had been in one of his legendary moods. It only seemed to get worse with each passing day. He wouldn't speak to John much. A short sentence here and there. They had no more cases. Sherlock would go out almost every day. Always just before the flower delivery arrived. 

John gave in. Sherlock stood from his microscope and strode across the room. As he flung his coat over his shoulders he muttered, "Your flower is here." And with that he left the flat. John went down to collect the flower. Exactly the same as every other one he got. The original mystery that surrounded the flowers had long faded. 

He sat down on the sofa and opened his laptop. Determined to figure out the mystery and put a stop to it. 

He typed 'Carnation meaning' into the search bar. He began to talk to himself as he looked through the results. "Light red… no. Dark red… no. White… no. How can they all mean something different? Birth flower? That's a thing?" He let out a huff and made himself comfortable on the seat. He had a lot of reading. 

_ Green, idiot. We did that! In school, someone. Who?  _ John screwed his eyes as he traipsed through his childhood memories that he had long tried to forget. He could remember the scratchy oversized, hand-me-down uniform. The noise of his fellow pupils. The drone of his teacher. Furiously scribbling down notes in a handwriting you could hardly read. "The truth is rarely pure and never simple… Al, Al- Al something… Algernon!" He suddenly transported back to his local library as he researched the play. The essay he got into trouble for.  _ What was it? What was it? _

It all snapped into place. He had written all about Oscar Wilde. His trial. His life. His work. He wore a green flower. They then made that a sign of a homosexual. Like a secret code that you literally wore. Anyone could see it, but only a few knew what it meant. Everyone just thought it was an accessory. He was fascinated by the whole story. They used his own work against him. Many men had fled during his trial to avoid their own prosecution. John had been extremely proud of himself. The work he had put into the essay. He had shown his parents after he handed it in. The 'gay aspect' had made his father angry. Then his teacher had also not taken too kindly. He was devastated to say the least. 

John began to mentally kick himself. He had been wondering who the mystery woman was, and it wasn't a woman at all. A quick search confirmed his thoughts.  _ Was that what was wrong with Sherlock? _ John always said he wasn't gay. And, yet, he has a male suitor. 

_ Do you mind? _ The thought passed through his mind. Did he? It didn't take much for him to say, "It's all fine." The thought wasn't even that surprising. He felt, oddly at peace with the idea of being with a man. Only issue now of course - which man has been sending them?  _ Need a plan. _ John slammed his laptop lid down and hurried out of the flat. Grabbing his keys and coat as he rushed out. Wandering through the busy London streets to find a book shop, only one thing on his mind.  _ Oscar Wilde's writings. _


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft had been keeping tabs on both his brother and John. He had become slightly worried about his brother's behaviour when he found out Sherlock was in one of his bolt holes. After tapping into the security around, all he saw was Sherlock sitting atop an old mattress on the floor. He didn't do anything, just sat. He went to Bart's one day. Although, he just seemed to float around. Following Molly. Hovering behind the desks and in the door ways. 

He also kept tabs on John. He wanted to see how long it would take John to figure out who the flowers were from. He began to understand why Sherlock would disappear. John just didn't seem to get it.  _ The puzzle is so simple. How has he not worked it out yet?  _

Mycroft was sitting in his office. It had been over a week since the first flower delivery. He was almost tempted to interfere. So was Greg for that matter. Since Sherlock's admission, he had been becoming slightly…  _ how to put this… _ unhinged. It was a look that was so rare for his younger brother. Greg had informed him that Sherlock turned down a promising case. When prompted as to why, he just said that he had been distracted.  _ Time to take it up a step.  _

As he took his phone from his jacket, Anthea walked into his office. "Dr Watson has left Baker Street. Making his way to the underground, not sure his destination yet." Mycroft gave her a nod as his mind began to whir. Anthea was tapping away on her phone. She took a seat across from him, eyes still fixed on the phone. "Riding Bakerloo line." They sit in silence for a few minutes before Anthea speaks again, "Changed to the Piccadilly Circus Station. I can't tell where he is going yet. This isn't his typical journey." 

Mycroft's only response comes in a distracted hum as he thinks of possible destinations.  _ It follows nothing he tends to do. Where is he going? _ A visual map appears in Mycroft's mind as he thinks.  _ What could he need?  _

"Russell Square Station. He doesn't seem to be changing over. Just walking."  _ Russell Square? That's… Marchmont Street? Is he going to Waitrose? Doesn't make sense, he tends to frequent Asda. Much more affordable for his budget. No. The community centre?  _ "He's walking at a much slower pace. Still unsure what he's looking for. Could he be looking for Sherlock?" Mycroft shakes his head. Sherlock was on the other side of London. He would probably be heading back home about now. 

"He's stopped," Mycroft's head lifts. His mental map is nothing compared to Sherlock's. He knows this. It's hardly necessary for his line of work. Although, it is still far superior to an average mind, but that didn't mean he knew where John had gone. Anthea seems to be trying to stifle a laugh. Very poorly. She passes her phone over to her boss. 

"Gay's the Word?" The disdain in Mycroft's voice was very pronounced.  _ A Lesbian and Gay bookshop.  _ Mycroft sat back slightly in disbelief.  _ He's almost got it.  _ "Where is my brother?" 

Her nails tapped against the screen as she looked. "He's on his way back to Baker Street from the looks of it, sir." Mycroft takes out his phone to talk to Greg. They need a plan. Anthea stands and excuses herself, slipping from the room as Mycroft's thumbs run over the screen. 

_ Re: Sherlock and John  _

_ I need to intervene. Any ideas? John seems close, just needed a little push. I'll be on my way there shortly. -MH _

The reply came surprisingly fast. 

Actually, I found something. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiVg2OhHWy0

Remind you of anyone??? 

Mycroft was familiar with it. Although, he would never have thought to use it. He had to admit, they did make a good team. 

_ Perfect. I will be going to see them. John is at a bookstore, Gay's the Word. Sherlock is on his way home. I will meet them. -MH _

Good luck!!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been to Gay's the Word. I had a concert in London, and was going to go before that. But it was postponed due to corona. I'm pretty bummed about that so I sent John there. Same thing really 😂


	10. Chapter 10

John had left the bookstore with the complete works of Oscar Wilde.  _ Okay, maybe also a badge and shirt, but that hardly mattered.  _ He made his way back home, reading the book he had brought on the tube. It was a short ride, but he managed to read 'Quia Multum Amavi', 'Sonnet', and 'Libertatis Sacra Fames'. There was a skip in his step as he walked back home. 

That skip was short lived however, when he walked into the living room to see Sherlock scowling at his brother. "We need to make plans for your birthday, Sherlock." Mycroft turned to him and gave him a standard look over. Assessing what John had been up to. Sherlock's gaze remained fixed on Mycroft. John placed his bag by his coat and sat on the sofa. Bracing himself for the inevitable damage control left behind by Mycroft's visit. 

"My birthday is not until January. Are you that desperate for cake, brother mine?" Sherlock's face was screwed up as he looked at his brother. Mycroft on the other hand, was sporting a smug expression. Seemingly unscathed by the remark about his weight. 

John had never known Sherlock's birthday. He didn't celebrate it.  _ January, why is that familiar?  _ John didn't understand why he didn't celebrate, it was just another part of Sherlock. 

Mycroft's hand disappears into the depths of his blazer as he pulls out his phone. Both men watch him with rapt attention. Mycroft's hand moves slowly. It's so out of place for his character, John can't help but wonder what he's playing at. Sherlock continues to scowl at him. If anything, it seems to grow deeper with each passing second. Mycroft scrolls a little on the screen. John watches on in confusion. He presses the button on the side of his phone and looks up to Sherlock. His lips turn up slightly and Sherlock gives him a curious eye while maintaining his scowl. 

Mycroft's eyes drift slightly towards John and then falls back onto his phone. A song begins to play through the tinny speakers. It's an old song. John has no idea what the song is. He looks over to Sherlock, the scowl is almost completely covered with a confused expression.  _ He doesn't know either. _ The voice of a man begins to fill the quiet around them. 

_ 'Once I loved such a shattering physician, _

_ Quite the best-looking doctor in the state'  _

Sherlock's face filled with horror and he pounced from his seat. Landing on Mycroft as he tried to pry the phone from his hands. 

' _ I was tempted to whisper, "Do you love me, _

_ Or do you merely love your work?' _

John was trying to hear the song. He could tell it was important to the two brothers. Sherlock had practically climbed on top of Mycroft. Both had their hands on the phone, muffling the song, as they fought for it. A grin split across Mycroft's face. The whole situation seemed like that of an American tv show.  _ Sibling rivalry, now we're getting somewhere.  _

__ _ 'He went through wild ecstatics _

_ When I showed him my lymphatics, _

_ But he never said he loved me.' _

John was about to pull them apart when Sherlock stood, victorious. Mycroft then stood much faster than John had ever seen him move. Sherlock was still quicker, however. Before anyone could do anything, the phone was flying through the air. Colliding with the wall. The room fell into a heavy quiet. The only sound was that of the two men's heaving breaths. The scowl had returned to Sherlock's face. This time it had a much harder edge to it, his cheeks tinted pink.  _ Probably from the impromptu wrestling match.  _ Mycroft still had a smug smile across his face. Seemingly bothered about his now broken phone. 

"Out!" John startles at the sound. Sherlock's voice has an edge to it that he had never heard. It's more of a growl than a word. John is almost ashamed to admit he felt it in his abdomen,  _ but who wouldn't? _

Mycroft's expression drops and is replaced with one of sympathy. John had never seen that. He didn't even know the elder was capable of such an expression. He watched in shock as Sherlock stood tall, chest heaving, and Mycroft's more relaxed posture as he turned to collect his broken phone. Without a word Mycroft left the flat. Sherlock remained where he stood, his breathing strangely controlled. The sound of a car door followed by a car starting, broke him out of his reverie. 

He turned to look at John. The hard edge immediately faded. He almost looked sad. He blew out a breath and walked to his room, slamming the door behind him. John heard a muffled scream from behind the door and was about to rush over, when he heard a crash. Followed by another. He decided to give Sherlock his space, and walked to his room. Forgetting his books as he passed them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included a link to the song in the last chapter, but I think it was the female version. The song is called 'The Physician' by Cole Porter 1933. Here's a link to the original song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8aUCVKCkic   
> Anyway, hope you liked this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter, but from Sherlock's pov.

When Sherlock had arrived home, he could tell something was off. There was a familiar smell in the air.  _ Creed, spice and wood. Mycroft.  _ He walked into the living room and noticed that John had gone out. Mycroft was perched on John's chair like the vulture he resembled. 

He was torn between screaming at his brother to leave and asking for his plan. Sherlock sat in his seat across from Mycroft after taking off his coat, waiting for his brother to speak. They sat in silence for almost ten minutes. Neither breaking the quiet atmosphere. Sherlock was scowling at his brother.  _ He showed up here. He can speak first.  _

The door downstairs opened and Sherlock recognised John's unmistakable walking pattern. Still scowling at his brother, the door opened and Mycroft started talking as if they had been having a conversation the entire time. "We need to make plans for your birthday, Sherlock."

_Has he gone mad? Has he finally lost it?_ "My birthday is not until January. Are you that desperate for cake, brother mine?" Sherlock knew there had to be an ulterior motive. He wouldn't have shown up to plan a birthday, seven months in advance. They never did anything for their birthdays either. Sherlock couldn't figure out what his brother's game was, but he knew he didn't like it. He waited for John, then started a stupid conversation. _It doesn't make sense._ _Is this part of the plan I'm not privy to?_

Mycroft reaches into his blazer for his phone. Sherlock continues to watch. Feeling John's eyes on him. Sherlock hadn't turned to look at John, his eyes staying on Mycroft so he could work out what he was planning. Mycroft kept looking between them and was tapping on his phone until a song began to play. 

Sherlock didn't recognise the song. He had always prefered classical and punk music. All of Mycroft's songs came from old films. Another thing Sherlock wasn't a fan of. He can't stop the slight confusion that he was certain, coloured his features. A man's voice broke through the music. Slicing it's way through the room. 

Sherlock listened to the lyrics and could instantly tell where his brother was going.  _ A song about one's love for their doctor. Sung by a man, no less.  _ Sherlock's only thought from then on was,  _ Get that phone.  _ He jumped across the small space to try and take it by force. 

_ Not ready. John can't know yet. I'm not ready. I can't do this. He can't force me to confess yet. John will know. Of course he will. Not ready. Get the phone.  _

The song continued to play. Sherlock's desperation became more pronounced as he noticed the grin splitting Mycroft's face. The song continued to play as they fought over the phone. 

Sherlock pulled back and the phone slipped from Mycroft's grip. The phone was thrown in panic when he saw his brother stand. He expected some kind of reaction from Mycroft, but nothing came. He was calm.  _ How the hell can he be calm right now?  _ Sherlock tried to control his breathing, but every fiber in his body was telling him to lash out. When his brother didn't make any attempts at moving, Sherlock practically growled, "Out!"

He was surprised how easily Mycroft left. Listening out for the car disappearing, Sherlock tried to control his breathing. 

For the first time, he looked up at John. All of his anger faded in an instant. As soon as his eyes fell on John, he was filled with humiliation. The weight of the situation crashed upon him and he felt like curling into a ball. He knew his carefully constructed mask had faded. Showing John all the raw emotion he usually tried to hide. He also didn't try to rebuild it. Sherlock felt heavy. His legs pulling him. He walked towards the safety of his room. Slamming the door behind to try and relieve some of his frustration. 

It didn't work. 

He couldn't cope with the thoughts flying through his head. it was all too much. His mind became crowded with all the ways John would reject him.  _ Surely he knows now. I'm not ready.  _

The scream ripped through from his chest and he tore the lamp from the wall. Throwing it against the chest that was opposite. He then knocked the periodic table from the wall as another grunt passed his lips. The bedside table was pushed beside it. His room in disarray. Sherlock climbed over the fallen furniture and curled onto his bed. Lying still as he regained his breath. 

_ It's not fair.  _


	12. Chapter 12

John's laptop was resting on his dresser when he got to his room. He could no longer hear Sherlock, but from the sounds he had heard, he knew Sherlock had destroyed his room. John didn't know how to help. He wanted to.  _ Dear god above,  _ he wanted to. The song had provoked an animalistic reaction in Sherlock. And Mycroft knew. John picked up his laptop and switched it on.  _ Silence.  _ John placed it beside him on his bed and started looking through his boxes. 

A tangled mess that was once earphones hid at the bottom of the box. Living with Sherlock, he never knew when he would be needed. Also being an ex-soldier, he liked to hear around himself. So the earphones had been unused. He perched on the end of his bed and worked to straighten the wires. 

With his freshly untangled earphones, John typed in the lyrics he could remember. 

_ 'Once I loved such a shattering physician, _

_ Quite the best-looking doctor in the state' _

The results showed immediately. The song was from a play written in 1933.  _ Sherlock doesn't watch plays. He finds them boring.  _ He opens a new tab and plugs the earphones into the laptop.  _ The Physician.  _

He chose and listened to the first one. Making sure the volume was turned down. Even though Sherlock was downstairs and he had earphones. He had to admit that the song was good. The first time, he just listened. Then he brought up the lyrics. Listening and reading several times.  _ Why did he react the way he did?  _

John thought back to the whole exchange between the brothers. They were talking about Sherlock's birthday.  _ Mycroft is bound to know when his brother was born. Why show up seven months early?  _ The song continued to play as John thought.  _ January. Why is that familiar? What am I missing? _

John looked up. His gaze falling onto his dresser, but he couldn't really see it. His thoughts wondered. John thinks of all that has happened since the flowers began to appear.  _ The flowers. The carnations. The green carnations. Sign for homosexuals.  _

Oh

_ Oh!  _

John tore the earphones from his ears, slamming the lid of the laptop. He ran down the stairs to collect the bag from the book shop. He made his way to the carnations in the kitchen. Sherlock's bedroom door was still closed. Silence filled the flat as John placed the books on the kitchen table. 

He couldn't be wrong. It meant too much. He pulled out the 'Complete works of Oscar Wilde' from the bag. The book was hardback and had cost a pretty penny. John took hold of a carnation, making sure to choose the nicest one. He had left the cards on them since the start. Not seeing the point in removing them. Until now. He took the card and crossed out his own name. Turning it over, he wrote  _ 'From your Physician.'  _

He opened the cover of the book and placed the flower's stem inside. Retying the card so that it was visible above the cover. He reached back into the bag and pulled out a small badge he had also brought. It was an impulse purchase, and he was glad for that now. 

As he was looking through the books he came across the merchandise the shop had to offer. They sold shirts that were from a political movement in the 1980's. He didn't wear t-shirts often, but he still picked it up. There was a table covered in badges and wristbands. A collection of small enamel pins caught his eye. They were flags each with a different colour combination. John had turned to a young man nearby and asked what each one meant. The young man had been very helpful. Going through the different flags. John asked if he could tell him which one to get. "I don't mind if they're a man or a woman if I'm honest." He was given a small smile as the man handed a pink, purple, and blue pin to John. 

John placed the pin onto his jumper. It rested just over his heart. Taking a deep breath, John took hold of the book with Sherlock's birth flower held under the cover. John walked to Sherlock's bedroom door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For John's 'gay's the word' purchases I had a look at the merchandise sold in the store. They sell shirts, posters, tote bags, badges... The shirt they sell is amazing in my opinion. I had a look at the badges they sold from images online. I haven't been, but I have every intention of going as soon as I can.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter. Posting the end with it!!   
> Hope you enjoy!!

John stood outside Sherlock's door. One hand held the door handle while the other held the book. His knuckles become white around the book. John took some steadying breaths. He pushed the door open, but it got caught on something. John pushed a little harder. Peeking through the crack in the door, John saw Sherlock laid on his bed. He pushed the door harder and slipped through. 

The floor had broken wood and glass scattered. The bedside table had been knocked, the periodic table had been smashed, his lamp had broken in several places. Sherlock was curled on his bed. His covers and pillows had been thrown at the end of the bed, hanging off the end. 

Sherlock's head raised slightly. His face was unreadable to the normal person, but John knew him. He saw the pain hidden behind Sherlock's blank stare. His head flopped back down onto the mattress. John walked further into the room. Careful to not break the glass even further. He made his way around to the other side of the bed, picking up a pillow as he walked. John placed the pillow against the headboard behind Sherlock. He sat and took off his shoes before bringing his feet on the bed. He sat back on the bed, placing the book on his lap as he looked at the back of Sherlock's head. 

They stayed there for several minutes. the only sound in the room came from their breathing. John let out his tense breath he didn't know he had been holding and reached across Sherlock to place the book infront of him. 

Sherlock's hand moved slowly to the book. The rest of his body imobile. He opened the cover. His nimble fingers holding the stem of the carnation. John heard a small intake of breath. 

Sherlock turned slowly to face John. His mouth was parted as he looked over John. John slid on the bed so that he was laid beside Sherlock. His head resting on the pillow. Sherlock turned to fully face John. The flower still held in his hand. John lifted his hand to rest on Sherlock's cheek. Rubbing over his cheekbone. 

"John…" The word was but a breath in the small space. Ghosting against John's cheek. 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," Sherlock's face fell and became more closed off. He began to turn back away. Only held in place by John's hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't know," Sherlock looked over John's features as he took a steadying breath. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I didn't realise. Then Mycroft made me realise and said he'd help. I hated every second." Sherlock's gaze moved to the space between them. John's hand still rubbed against his cheek. Sherlock seemed to close in on himself. 

John took his hand from Sherlock's cheek and a flash of hurt flitted past his eyes. John moved his hand to rest over the small flag on his chest. "I told you. It's all fine." 

Sherlock brought his hand to John's, leaving the carnation in the space between them. His finger brushed across the flag over John's heart. A smile tugging at his lips. He looked back up to John's eyes. His finger, still on the flag. John leaned forward, searching Sherlock's eyes. The flower was crushed as John pressed closer to Sherlock. John's lips barely touched Sherlock's, both their eyes searching the others as they shared their shallow breaths. John tilted his head and pressed their lips together. Sherlock's hand still resting above John's heart, feeling the erratic beating within. John brought his hand to rest once again on Sherlock's cheek. 

John pulled away after a few seconds. The kiss was brief and just a gentle touch of lips, but it was perfect. Sherlock's breathing picked up. John smiled at him and leaned in again. Sealing their lips in a deeper kiss. It was awkward in their position and John raised himself to hover above Sherlock. Their lips never break as he moves above. 

When they pull a part for air, Sherlock looks at John above and speaks out, "Was it the song?" 

John knew instantly what Sherlock was asking,  _ 'When did you realise my feelings? Was it the song that tipped you off?'  _ John was resting on his elbows above Sherlock, looking down at him. Taking in the sight. 

"I did Oscar Wilde in school. He wore a green carnation. So, I knew it was a man. I went to get his works today to look for more clues. Then Mycroft showed up. I never knew your birthday… I listened to the song. Then I remembered something I read, it's your birth flower. It all fell into place." He leant back down to reclaim Sherlock's lips, they were parted in shock as he listened to John. 

When they broke apart Sherlock said, "I didn't even know birth flowers were a thing." A smile spread across both their faces and they broke into a fit of giggles. 

When they calmed down, Sherlock leant up to reach John's lips again. John pulled back and looked around Sherlock's room. "I'll order take-out, you clean all this." John gave Sherlock another quick peck and raised from above him. Putting his shoes on and making his way back out the room. 


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter in this fic.   
> Hope you liked the story!!

It had been a month since John and Sherlock shared their first kiss. They both still got high just from the touch. The carnations continued to arrive for the next few days. John sent a text message to Mycroft, 

**Address the cards to John and Sherlock. It's easier. - JW**

They had received an entire bouquet - that they had no space for - after that message. The card simply read,  _ 'Congratulations'.  _

The night of their kiss, Sherlock had rushed through his room to join John. They curled on the sofa together until they began to drift. Sherlock stood and pulled John to his feet. His face fell when he saw John walk in the direction of his own room. John had one foot on the bottom step when Sherlock clung to his back. He pulled John back towards the kitchen. John was giggling as he walked backwards towards Sherlock's room, but he had no complaints. Grabbing the bag with his new shirt as he passed it so he'd have something to wear that night. They collapsed into bed together. Limbs winding around each other. 

The shirt soon became a staple in Sherlock's own wardrobe. He would wear it around the flat when a suit was unnecessary. The men had fallen into a comfortable domestic bliss. 

At crime scenes they remained professional. Lestrade was the first to notice the shift in their relationship. Both men looked at each other with longing while the other spoke. Neither were conscious of this, but Lestrade picked up on it nevertheless. 

Sherlock was crouched by a stiff when John came to stand beside Greg. "Thank you." Greg turned to take in John. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on Sherlock's body. Greg tried to figure out what he had done to deserve praise. John turned his head to face Greg, his eyes lingering on Sherlock's form for a moment longer before snapping to Greg. "Thank you. Sherlock told me about the carnations. It's- Yeah, it's going great." He gave Greg a wide smile and turned back to Sherlock. From the floor, Sherlock lifted his head and locked eyes with John. His face split into a grin that was mirrored on John's face. 

Greg had never been happier for his friends. 


End file.
